


At Your Service

by avoidfilledwithcelluloid



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Gratuitous descriptions of hotel lobbies and courtyards, Hotel Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Making Out, So light you might miss it if i didn't tell you, Top Trans Male Character, Trans Male Character, Unhinged amounts of in-bedroom ferns, foot washing, hotel au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-12 12:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidfilledwithcelluloid/pseuds/avoidfilledwithcelluloid
Summary: “You didn’t have to do that.” Light spoke as though similarly injured, his tone an entire volume of ardent emotion that L yearned to know more deeply. “Get on your knees, you know. Wipe my feet. That’s not what you do here.”L snuck his hand from Light’s heel up his pant leg to just barely cup his calf, bringing himself up so their mouths were level. “It’s the least I can do,” he said, horribly earnest in the only clouded way he could be. “You asked to greet me. I just wanted to say thank you.”“There’s other ways to do that.” Light ran his hand from L’s hair to his jaw, cradling it in his palm. “Other ways you could be of service.”(the yagami family runs the sprawling and exclusive Hotel Kitsune, catering to all the international spies, detectives, and agents including one world's greatest detective. L and Light, after years of playing cat-and-cat with each other, finally stick their toes into an erotic romance, but their roles as guest and hotel host are not as clear cut as one might think. Some services must be requested and some...are complimentary.)





	1. L

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi hello! sorry this is unbeta'd! i just wanted to get it out this weekend. here is the first part, and the second and last part will be up hopefully tonight/tomorrow. i hope you enjoy it! thanks!

L thought little about the hotels he stayed at when he wasn’t there, and he thought even less about the people who swept, room to room, like ghosts in service of all the guests. His attention extended no shorter than himself and no further than whatever case Quillsh sent him on. Permission to care, to show an interest in these places which were temporary in every sense, felt unnecessary. Even if offered such empathetic allowance, L would have refused it.

Yet he turned his head, glancing out the back window of his town car escort, and sentiment—emotion! The beast of it!—subsumed his mind as the vehicle neared the Hotel Kitsune. In this instance, yes, he knew why his thoughts turned so sweet and the reason had everything to do with one of the ghosts haunting the sprawling estate’s halls; his heart and nerves preoccupied by a man who was by no means a true spirit but stayed, even in full flesh, someone L considered a near supernatural occurrence.

 _Light,_ L thought and the car rippled over a bump in the earthen road, jostling his thoughts into just sight and sound. _A knife-point laugh. Brown eyes focused on the twitch of my fingers. Warm hands cupping my elbows, drawing me further into the hotel’s conference room and showing me where he and his sister carved their names._

With the tall structure serving as the hotel’s main hall rising into view, the town car slid around the circular driveway. Centered in the path was a fountain, shut off at dusk and shimmering as an already overcast sky spat out its promised rain, topped by a stone fox who stared balefully at him as the car stopped. L didn’t wait for the driver to open his door, stepped out with bare feet onto dust-fine dirt, and shook himself limb by limb. Longer car rides left him stiff, although the driver appeared frustrated as he gave L a wrinkled brow while carrying his two suitcases up the hotel’s welcoming staircase and through large, wooden double doors. Each gold handle shone and distracted L’s crow eyes until a murmured greeting caught his human attention.

“Are you all right?” Light leaned over the concierge desk, his facial expression fixing his eyes between amused and aloof, the way precocious and uptight children look when told an undeniably good fart joke. When L responded with a single nod, his eyes sunk further into aloofness and L got the unmistakable feeling he failed a test.

Light’s gaze swiveled to the driver, who held up the bags in a confused manner made sadder by raindrops darkening his coat. “You can leave those here. The guest and I can take care of them.” He reached into his pocket and handed the man some money—more than expected, L observed from the thickness of the stack and the driver’s surprised gratitude—before tuning his features into a polite, if impatient smile. “I’m sure it’s getting very late for you, Sir. Your drive back will be better if you leave right away.”

The driver left, smiling too widely for L’s tastes, and the lobby now consisted of himself, his wet suitcases, and Light. A loose button-up, left undone and revealing wisps of golden hair, tucked into a pair of solid grey wool trousers that Light kept one hand pocketed in as he came around the desk. His slow gait revealed a pair of blue slippered feet and a glass of red wine in his other hand. It was near full when Light handed it to L, who found the taste metallic but strangely buoyant. The wine didn’t carry the usual botanical spark that Light’s preferred alcohol drinks did and smelled a little cheap. In any case, it explained the melt of Light’s expression into a more winsome one. He smiled, all teeth, and L had the urge to take his chin between two fingers, tuck his face down and kiss his forehead out of sheer affection. To let Light know, somehow, that L was back for nearly him alone.

He handed the wine back, afraid any more would make his hands work toward his urges. Instead of taking a drink himself, Light left the glass half-drunk on the desk and picked up the left, wetter suitcase.

“You’re leaving it?” L examined the glass. “I didn’t taste poison, or anything noxious in the drink.”

“Not really mine,” Light said. “A guest, someone from British Intelligence, came by earlier and left it for me. They thought I might like the ‘treat.’”

“Hm.” The glass cast a more adversarial shadow to L now and he couldn’t help glaring at it. “Well. It didn’t taste like your kind of wine, anyway.”

Laughter like so many silver, shining blades rang out and L wiped the scowl from his face, looking over to Light, who lifted his suitcase mockingly. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you to the room. Everyone else is at dinner right now, but I asked to greet you.”

L refrained from pressing the last point, preferring instead to roll it around so he could taste the full pleasure of hearing it. “What was for dinner?”

“Something with salmon.” Light shrugged. “I hardly read the menu when I don’t work the dining room, but Mom complained about the right size of pearl quinoa and she always pairs salmon with that grain.”

Two doors, left and right, led to other parts of the main building through lavish, wide-windowed hallways L remembered fondly. However, he followed Light out a third door behind the concierge and out onto the inner courtyard. Hotel Kitsune consisted of three buildings including the main hall which was open to the public and contained a large formal restaurant run during holidays, the presentation conference room, and a miniature museum which contained several well-known pieces as well as a few of Light’s oil paintings (comparable and, in some cases and according to L’s own taste, surpassing those done by old Italian masters); the hotel proper, or its quaint nickname the Den, which was closed to public use and housed over a hundred guest rooms, including the Yagami family’s on-site residence and Light’s private quarters, as well as a private dining room for hotel guests only; and the third building, which was for recreation and small-scale tournaments.

He and Light walked in silence through the courtyard, but the silence wasn’t adversarial. In fact, the quiet reminded L of how cats could scamper and sleep on each other for hours without a single meow from either. Knowledge lay in body language alone and in that regard, the confident snap of straight shoulders and sure-footed push of Light’s legs spoke volumes—all of which L devoured like penny dreadfuls. His own knotted posture and smooth, blank expression might have thrown off a stranger but Light, every so often, glanced at L with warm eyes. _How reassuring,_ L mused as they stepped through the Den’s single, rounded front door. After a moment, a hint of fear chilled the thought. _How terrifying all the same, to be known at all._

“I—,” Light began, but stopped both in speech and at the center of the Den’s front foyer. He looked from side to side while L stood and observed how a few raindrops trickled from the tips of Light’s hair down his nape. What might they taste like—rain and salt together on the tongue—and how sweet the shiver that followed would make their flavor. L himself was soaked, his feet now muddied along with his jeans’ hem, and when he shook his head, rain spat from his dampened hair. He stood up straighter, hair now a leonine puff from what he saw in the tile floor reflection.

Shaking his head, Light frowned and tried again. “I thought Sayu would be here. She said she’d leave towels.”

“You asked her to come?”

“I didn’t know if you would need more assistance,” Light replied. “Especially with the rain.” His frown deepened and, unfortunately, the seriousness developed a greater handsomeness in his features. “She’s probably off with someone tonight,” he muttered, fingers tapping his chin in consideration. When he looked at L, his thoughtful expression broken into a quieter, muffled glee than his previous laugh.

“Wait here.” Light held up a hand, tremored from contained delight, and dropped L’s suitcase. He flicked his wrist like a tamer keeping a lion at bay. “I’ll get towels for us before we go upstairs.”

Through a panel hidden in the wall, Light disappeared and left L to stand stupidly in the Den lobby. He dripped across the front rug and scanned the entryway, full of various antiques and gifts from old guests—including, above him, a fine gold chandelier gifted to the hotel by Quillsh following L’s first stay. L glanced through the left entrance, which gradually stretched into a sitting room scattered with overstuffed couches and artfully rustic rugs. He hadn’t been in Japan, to the Kitsune, in over two years and while the Den’s furniture changed, little else had. Slick, mirror-esque evergreen tile still made up the floor and twin chairs sat beneath the hotel’s largest painting—an ink and watercolor rendition of some war L forgot the name of. A bar still stood at the right corner of the massive sitting room—although unoccupied—and the same spiral staircase grew not five feet from L, with grooves worn where countless guests stepped before.

Light slipped through the same panel almost unnoticed by L, except that the unpleasant squish of his wet slippers drew the detective’s attention. Stacked in his arms were two green towels and L took the top one, using it to rub moisture from his hair. As he attempted to dry himself, he watched Light unfold his own towel and then stand without movement. Their eyes met, frozen in the realization that the observation of each other they’d assumed was isolated was, in fact, mutual.

Blush stealing the composure of his features, Light looked away first. “Do you need any help?” His question seemed directed at L’s feet, more because at the moment, they were sloughing off wet mud onto the nice towel. “I’d say don’t use the towel there, but I doubt any part of you that needs it more.”

“Dried my hair already,” L said. “I’ve got more than enough shirts and jeans. My feet,” here he wiggled his toes, drawing the short laugh he desired from Light, “are the difficult case.”

With a curt but friendly nod, Light stepped away and fell back into a chair beneath the painting. One arm swung over the rest, dangling his unused towel, and the other fiddled with hair plastered to his cheeks.

“Sorry, I’m just tired,” Light sighed, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. “Fall is busy. Lots of American spies like to come here during November, although don’t let my dad know I told you.” A sniff and head shake punctuated the demand. “But I doubt that’s classified information. Everyone knows Americans like to come here anyway. One of them asked if we had vending machines, like a shrine or a grocery store. It was fun to tell them no. You can’t imagine how ridiculous a disappointed federal spy looks when he can’t get some silly matcha soda can.”

L burned, rubbing between his toes while keeping fierce eyes on Light reclined in his chair. Each limb performed its own small task—every body part assigned some duty like twitching, or wiping away errant rainwater—and once L’s feet were as dry as they could be, he discarded his towel. He went to Light in the chair, knelt on both knees, and snatched the towel from his hand. Body startled and eyes open, Light leapt in his seat, but went still as L cupped his ankle and lifted it onto his own thigh. A heavy moment passed before L looked up and their gaze met again in acknowledgement.

“Your slippers must be uncomfortable,” L said, his fingers working the first slipper off to expose the pale foot beneath. “Are they?”

Light shuffled his position, no longer relaxed and now hovering, eyes fixed on L’s hands tender on his cool flesh. “What are you doing?” he asked. “You don’t need to do this.”

Instead of an answer, L bent his head and began to methodically dry Light’s feet. He swiped the towel across the tops in easy circles, one hand braced on the Achille’s tendon and keeping the heel dug into his own thigh. Light said nothing as well, but every so often let out an _ah_ or _oh_ that struck an arrow through L’s heart. Once he finished the first, he carefully set it onto the floor and picked up the other foot, giving it the same treatment. Though his hand moved delicately, the unexpected dichotomy of the vulnerable arch—which flinched when he stroke a finger there, causing a nervous giggle—and the tougher heel and bony top moved L. At the last brush of the towel, he leaned down and chanced what he longer for—a quick kiss dropped at the front of Light’s ankle.

“Is that better?” His voice was rough, run through with all the wounds Light’s little sounds inflicted. “Are you—do you feel more comfortable?”

Light raised his hand, hesitant and then firm, to card through L’s hair in a smooth long glide. Even as his fingers were caught in the tangle, L leaned toward the touch and relished the first scratch of nails on his scalp. His hands still holding onto that cool foot, L startled when Light flexed it and brushed against the shell of L’s ear with one finger.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Light spoke as though similarly injured, his tone an entire volume of ardent emotion that L yearned to know more deeply. “Get on your knees, you know. Wipe my feet. That’s not what you do here.”

L snuck his hand from Light’s heel up his pant leg to just barely cup his calf, bringing himself up so their mouths were level. “It’s the least I can do,” he said, horribly earnest in the only clouded way he could be. “You asked to greet me. I just wanted to say thank you.”

“There’s other ways to do that.” Light ran his hand from L’s hair to his jaw, cradling it in his palm. “Other ways you could be of service.”

Understanding washed over L, so he kissed Light, their lips brushing once and then twice, closer and tilted to fit together like puzzle pieces. Without open mouths, all that held the kiss was pressure until L pulled back a fraction and breathed in Light’s faint whisper, “Please,” which dragged him to those lips again and again.

“At your service,” he breathed into Light’s mouth. “I’m at your service.”

Hands roamed from faces to necks, from legs to hips, until L leveraged himself above Light, the heels of his knobby palms pinning the other man to the chair. Light touched him first at the neck, then his hands danced to his shoulders, gripping their broadness and pulling him nearer. Nothing was quiet about the kiss and at once, L knew they were making up for years upon years of silent declarations in one loud act.

He pulled back, finally, and found Light’s eyes closed, his pupils darting around beneath the thin skinned lids. What could they be looking for? After Light noticed lips no longer consumed his, he flickered his lashes until, wide-eyed, he stared up at L with cherry-dark mouth split into a smile. His eyes found L’s and lust wrung a deep gold hue from them.

L breathed in short huffs, his jeans tighter than before. “Which room?” he asked and Light fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a key card.

“Third floor,” he said. “Room thirty-seven.”

“Third floor, room thirty-seven,” L repeated, already standing and trying to put a hand over the erection wrinkling his loose denim.

“I’ll be there in two minutes,” Light said, nodding. “I need to tell my family I’ll be unavailable.”

Groaning, L shook his head. Two minutes was two lifetimes. Selfishness drove him to grasp Light by the hand and press his palm to the warm ridge. “Come with me now,” he said. “And I’ll do whatever you ask in the elevator.”

Light’s eyes widened, fingers twisting in L’s hold to stroke his erection through the denim, and he hummed as L whined, rocking into the touch. When he next looked at L, every crystal of the chandelier glistened in his fevered eyes and gave his answer.

…

It had been a difficult day, and now it was a boring night. L wandered the Den, ignoring the case he was assigned because of the weekend, and ambled into the dining area at the latest hour he could manage.

Scattered through the hotel’s dining area were perfect square tables, draped in cream cloth embroidered with gold foxes so lovely that, as L toyed with the cloth’s edge, they rippled in the low lamplight as though frolicking. Around him were mirrored walls, each curtained off into their own rectangle by thick, red velvet, and their reflections showed L to be the sole occupant of the Den’s dining room.

He suspected that the midnight hour was to do with this, but allowed for the reality that in such an exquisite residence, in such a place that harbored only the most secretive of identities, his wandering the premises without sight of another human wasn’t too unexpected. Everyone, including L himself, kept to themselves out of habit and truthfully, all that drove him from his sequestered room off the Den’s north wing was an appetite. However, his hunger didn’t pertain only to the handsome dessert menu in front of him, but also to the person who he knew maintained the dining room during evening hours.

As L considered the raspberry tart, one mirrored panel pushed open and revealed first a hand—not rangy in its boniness, but indescribably masculine for how sharp it was and curtailed by a silver wristwatch—followed by the full figure of Light. He strode in from the service entrance, mirror shutting behind him, and came to L’s table holding a half-pad of paper. His pale blue shirt, tucked into his dark trousers with military precision, had two metal tips on the collar with engraved foxes—the same ones that scampered on the tablecloth.

“What can I help you with?” Light asked his question with, from what L could tell, an affected buoyancy. As a response, L pointed at the seat to the right of his.

“Don’t look so sour,” L said to Light as he sat with a sigh. “I’ll order something. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout of anything,” Light retorted. “Babies have more honor in their little pinkies than you. I should have sent my sister to get you whatever silly treat you wanted.”

His response left a quiet but clear message within: he hadn’t sent his sister, after all, and for this, L was very grateful. The Kitsune was large enough to house all its mysterious clientele and yet the only person who he wanted to see made efforts to see him as well. Gratitude seemed to be all L felt these past two days.

L set his menu aside, shifted his knees where they bent in his usual crouch, and leaned toward Light. “Such a big hotel,” he said. “Interesting that you and I should meet here when there’s no one else around. Of all the rooms. Of all the times. This is the sort of thing that makes a person believe in destiny, isn’t it?”

“It makes me believe you have eyes in all our paintings.” A soft wry smile betrayed his caustic words as Light continued in a more euphonious tone—a relief now that his service voice laid down for the familiar one L coveted. “You’re convinced of destiny because I came to wait on you when you arrived in a dining room? For some reason, I expected your standards of belief to be higher.”

“Wrong.” L tilted his head, setting it on his shoulder and turning his eyes toward Light, admiring how the lamp caught his various angles in shadow and gold. “Destiny is that you didn’t send your sister. You came to me, alone.” With a sigh, he fingered the golden foxes and made them dance as he spoke. “Our minds work so much like each other’s, don’t they? Did you feel as lonely as I did, after last night, this whole day?”

“Hard to feel lonely when you’re attending to the needs of countless guests all day.” Light frowned, but his eyes glowed as he leaned onto the table. “And don’t blame destiny for that. You’ve had every chance to call on me today for a repeat performance. When I saw you alone, I decided of my own will to come. Hardly fate pulling strings.”

“So you admit that you wanted to come see me,” L said, “when you saw no one else was around. When you knew we’d be by ourselves together.”

Another smile twitched on Light’s lips and he bit the lower one, blood swelling in it until the skin was a beautiful red. When he released it, a laugh trickled out that L wanted more than anything to kiss and swallow.

“Always playing tricks,” Light said. “That’s the game you like to play, isn’t it? Every conversation is an interrogation meant to reveal things.” He inhaled and raised his shoulders, the small ducktail of his hair flipping up and down with their movement. “You don’t have to trick me,” he continued, quiet enough that L shuffled to listen closer. “I’d tell you to your face that I wanted to see you again. That being alone with you was a temptation I couldn’t resist.”

Ah, and didn’t L know about temptations. His own had been hardly satisfied when, twenty-four hours previous, he’d sunk his cock into Light, who took him with eager, greedy ease. All day, the Cineplex of his mind played the golden hued sweat running down Light’s bent back, the gem of it as it collected right at the two dimples above his ass, and the score of moans—wine-flavored in their lust, deep and rich from being locked inside whatever basement Light kept his erotic inclinations—swelled over any conversation L attempted to have. Even Watari, who rang up L’s room to inform him that a certain ghastly back-up orphan escaped prison, was drowned out by the recurring daydream L lived in of wet, tight pulsing around him as Light came crying his name. Nothing even particularly out of the ordinary occurred in their sexual congress yet that time struck L as no other experience had in some time.

If only simple, uncomplicated sex was so distracting, then how would any other erotic form with Light be? Oh, even hearing him admit to coveting L’s focused attention was exciting. It made the inherent greed inside L’s spoiled heart demand more than just chatter. But he refused the greed a hold on his behavior and only laid his hand over the ones Light had intertwined on the table.

“May I ask a question?” He asked, eyes transfixed by Light’s winsome expression, so comfortable there was no way it wasn’t deliberately constructed. A slight nod allowed L to continue, “Why is this place called the Kitsune? Why all the foxes?”

Light inhaled with surprise, but his voice reflected little of his widened eyes or flared nostrils. “My father didn’t always own the hotel, you know,” he started. “Before it belonged to his great-uncle, I think, and then it was called Hotel Ukiyo.” His tone wavered, more airy than before, as he continued. “I never saw it then, but after my father was retired from the police as you know, he took on the hotel when Great-Uncle passed and renamed it.”

“And your father happens to love foxes?”

“It was what people used to call our family,” Light said, detached in his voice although dark-eyed and serious in expression. “My hair, it’s so light compared to my parent’s, that other family members said that they’d let a kitsune, fox-demon, into the house when I was born and that it lived in me. I always thought my father hated that people said it, but when he came to the hotel, he told me that the kitsune wouldn’t be a curse. ‘We have let magic into our lives,’ he told me, ‘and that means sacrifices but also rewards.’”

“What a good story.” L raised the tablecloth, wiggling the gold fox for Light to see it run. “Thematic. I’d always found your hair such a peculiar attribute, but never considered it supernatural.” He dragged his thumb across Light’s knuckles and paused, circling the last one and delighting in its bony rub. “Have I captured a fox demon by bedding you?”

Derisively, Light snorted and slipped his hand away, folding it to his chest. “This isn’t a joke,” he said. “Don’t tease me. Don’t act like I’m a liar.”

“Never,” L lifted from his chair, pressing his frame over Light until he had to tilt his head back, elegant throat vulnerable in its arch, just to meet L’s dark-eyed stare. “There’s nothing stronger than a demon that could do this to me.”

Mirrors reflected back the strange scene the two of them made—L perched above Light like a raven considering some copper for his nest—and flickered as Light stood up fast enough to knock the table’s lamp on its side. Shadows cast in unfamiliar haunts on his face and L saw other pieces become clear—a cruel cupids bow lips, eyelashes feathered and fluttering, a perfect ear half-covered by overgrown bangs. His arms wrapped around L’s neck, tugging him close for a merciful kiss dragged into several smaller, hungry pecks between them—heavy in breath but chaste in contact. L switched his hands from Light’s back, to his hips, to his wrists where L put his thumb against the watch face. He pulled back from the shower of kisses only to lean back in further, his mouth against the delicate shell of Light’s ear.

“Is here too much for you?” L inhaled the oleaginous scent of Light’s scalp, his nose bumped between brown hair and fragile ear cartilage. “I’ve wanted to kiss you again all day, here by the mirrors and in my bed. I’ll go wherever you want.”

“Aren’t decisions like that for the guest?” Light bit back, catching L’s earlobe between gentle teeth and sucked it before continuing. “I’m at your service, _Sir_.”

A gasp—tender and ugly—wrung from L and he tried to hide it in a kiss to the underside of Light’s jaw. Yet the kiss only served to warm their embrace, Light squeezing L to him and letting out a muffled _ah_ when L yanked his shirt from its precise tuck, pressing his hand underneath onto the bare skin. It prickled from his touch and another gasp stole out of L, his control near undone by Light’s fingers playing absently with the hair at his nape. The movement was casual, playful in a way that suggested intimacy beyond carnality. Fondness permeated the gesture—so much so that L jerked from it and their embrace was broken.

Confusion watered Light’s eyes, but failed to dampen his cheek’s flush. “What’s wrong?” His voice rumbled with undiluted arousal, still present despite the sudden cut off. “Are you upset?”

“I think I’d like to order room service.” L kissed the frown on Light’s face, speaking through his own hesitance. “Can you deliver?”

Light gasped between the lip locks, each one a short firm attack. “Mm,” he hummed, eyes shut as he melted each kiss into longer and longer meetings with steady pressure L couldn’t ignore. “Whatever you want can be brought to your room, Sir.”

“Good.” L pushed through his hoarse voice, roughened by the second _Sir_. “Because there are so many, many things I want to try on the menu.”


	2. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the second and last part of the hotel AU. thank you so much for ur patience in waiting a whole week! writing from Light's pov this time was harder than i expected and i'm just glad i got it as right as i could. hope you enjoy! its got.....top Light.....

Since he was seven and his family moved into the hotel, Light wanted the roof. He spied it on their first visit while his father and mother still counted out what Great-Uncle left for upkeep, his sister barely able to walk.  The crown to the mixed Japanese and Victorian Gothic building with a distinct wide window, staring out like God’s unblinking eye, was a set of three garret-type rooms in one straight line. Light imagined what kind of person lived up on that top most floor as he wandered the empty spaces, touching all the walls as though echoes lived in them. Later, his mother told him it was his great-uncle’s quarters where he lived alone; an old bachelor who sent Light notebooks as gifts, who smelled constantly of the gardenias that stood in potted plants around the garret’s floors. It was what he asked for on his eighteenth birthday and what he considered—though never spoke aloud—to be his heart. At twenty-five currently, his heart was his last secret.

Besides his family, no other human saw Light’s quarters and all the things he collected therein. He didn’t pretend his rooms weren’t museums full of his interests—all his painting supplies, his plants, his athletic trophies which trailed off after junior high—but this wasn’t the mismatched nest of some errant bird. Light kept his den a tidy, metered arrangement from the sitting room to his bedroom, where he stood now considering his previous night’s clothes.

Hung on an old wire in front of his open window, his rain-soaked white button-up and trousers weren’t quite dry. Moist spring air swirled through the room, chilling his naked legs while Light checked his ferns for dead leaves. Catching one, he yanked it off, crumpling the sodden rot into his palm, and discarded it into a nearby bin. His legs ached and shot little volts of pain to his ass whenever he stepped too hard. Light rolled his lower lip between his teeth, not quite worrying it but just close enough. Each brief stint of pain reminded him of sex and all that was bound up in just the _thought_ of L, back again last night.

L was not just a physical person wandering the Kitsune with his mourning struck eyes and dichotomous giddy depressive moods. He was more an amalgamation of body, memory, and unmistakable yearning; his persistent absence growing the memory parts more quickly than the flesh-and-blood. Light turned the pages of his memory, but his fingers stuck on passages dedicated to L.

Certain prose sang to him more strongly than others, but he knew every word, image and cream-stock page. Their first encounter was innocuous enough. While he knew the detective from a few brief encounters during his stays—himself always too young to take interest, L always too selfish to see other people as interesting—Light was delighted to meet a kindred spirit in the hotel’s small, dense library searching for a mystery novel. Rain had then too driven everyone inside and stoked conversation between the two over preferred authors, difficult moral debates, and something L called “bit arguments” where they picked at stupid things just to make the other react.

That was a blissful time through his eighteenth and nineteenth year; Light and L developed a tight friendship of platonic antagonism where Light teased L for his corvid avarice and L prodded Light’s near trickster habits of manipulation. Yet, such fine times crumbled by Light’s twentieth birthday, when the crooked figure didn’t appear in the hotel doorway on its customary date. He never knew what suffering a wait could be; the learning was cruel as three years passed without the detective reserving a single room. L grew in Light’s thoughts to be a figure of both good and ill repute—a person he craved the company of, but was so terribly angry with. Televisions were switched off at L’s mention—always for cases far from Japan and Light—and newspapers became minefields to toe through. Light flipped past those years with pointed disinterest, skimming the embarrassing amount of his early twenties spent staring at empty doors, until he reached the moment where his feelings became clear.

During early February, a few weeks before Light’s twenty-fourth birthday, his hours were occupied with switching between the main hall’s restaurant and the Den due to a busy Valentines season. Guests in both buildings were made up of smiling, romantic couples all in grinning passive-aggressive fights with each other. He took a short recreational walk around the estate, but it cheered him less than he’d hoped, even in his new winter wool coat. His mother and Sayu gave him the overcoat as an early birthday present imbued with a special appreciation for delaying his college trip another year. Snow packed against the door to the Den’s lobby, almost blockading it, and Light scraped it away with his boot, grumbling as he stepped inside and shrugged off his first clothing layer.

Flat, impolite coughing caught his attention and he turned, coat dangling from his right arm, to see L bent at the concierge desk. L unfolded himself, still curved but a bit taller in the shoulders, and waved a hand. Light zeroed in on the square palm and prominent, blue veins on his inner wrist, realizing then that it was bigger than he recalled. Somehow, he always expected every piece of L to be thin, fragile, but his actual proportions brought him frighteningly close to a real human being’s size rather than a diminutive figment.

“There’s too many people in the main hall.” L dropped his hand, diving right into a half-conversation as though he’d already been complaining to Light beforehand. “I hope it’s not troublesome that I told the driver to cut around. Crowds put me off, and I’m very sensitive to those things right before lunch.”

Light, frozen as though seeing a ghost, let his fingers fall open and dropped his coat. Rather than speak to L, he fled through a panel door hidden in the wall. He assumed in his anxiety that it closed with the momentum of his scampering away, although a clicking sound never came.

Through the darkened servant’s corridor with its stained glass lamps curing the hallway in crimson and walls blanketed by chestnut woodcuttings, he jogged from a specter he assumed never to return. Surprise rippled his skin then, when L tapped his shoulder. Light stood and shivered, his copper pullover and grey trousers not enough to keep the corridor’s usual draft out. Red crested his cheeks, although under the lamps it might’ve been unnoticeable. Embarrassment consumed him. In L’s hands was Light’s winter coat and his smile, slight and chapped, widened when their eyes met.

Snow melted and dripped from the coat onto the cheap carpet, barely missing L’s dirty shoes. Light stepped back and then forward again. L lifted the coat.

“You dropped this,” he said. “It’s a little soggy, if I’m being honest.”

“I was having a walk.” Light cast his gaze on L’s jeans, and the unfamiliar blue sweater wrapped around his torso which was trapped, it seemed, in eternal adolescent lankiness. “Just around the property, before the snow gets too thick. I’d suggest it, but you’re not much for outdoor activity if I remember right.”

“Has it been long enough that you’d forget?” L tilted his head, one long strand of his dark hair brushing the tiny upward tilt of his otherwise Roman nose. Light laughed and it echoed through the woodcuttings—little brown foxes and flowers vibrating with his bitter voice.

“Three years is long enough for anyone to forget,” he said. “But it’s also long enough for you to change, I guess.”

Thumb and forefinger pinching the dark wool, L flicked his gaze away from Light to trail on the coat’s silver stitching. “Winter brings out something in me that Watari calls spritely.” His monotone carried some detached mirth, as though recalling an exact moment in time. “I think he means that I behave childishly when snow appears, which is true enough. What’s more youthful than a long walk with a friend through nippy weather?”

This startled another rough laugh from Light, amused at the out-of-place adjective use. L shook the coat free of leftover snow with his eyes softer on Light than they’d ever been. The snow clumped onto the floor and sunk into the carpet as an oblong stain, sure to be someone’s duty to clean later. He raised the coat up and held the front flap open for Light with one hand like a doorway into the silk lining.

Quiet pulsed through Light’s blood and he moved without sound in his ears. In his deafness, Light slipped first his left arm and then his right into the coat as L lifted and angled the garment until it finally held all of Light. His skin blazed at each wool-blunted brush of L’s hands. It settled on his shoulders like a pound of bricks when L let go, enough so that Light stumbled at the weight.

Light knew a shift occurred that couldn’t be taken back, that could never be undone or twisted free from his spirit. The shift was unnamed when it happened and as L patted him, swung to Light’s side and started them back toward the lobby, he lost track of the sensation which moved him so much until that night. He lay in bed, bare skin sizzling, and knew that what changed was that he was in love with L. That coat, held open and worn warmly, was where everything started—a point of submission for Light to allow another man to serve him, a point of command for L to dictate what the service was. Not until L dressed him did Light realize how he wanted that service always—for a man as powerful as L to hold open Light’s coats and, as he’d done that fateful night previous, bend his knee to dry Light’s feet. It was a quiet dominance that suffused through L when he gave Light those actions and if that whisper remained for Light alone, then he could suffer it.

No. He wouldn’t suffer it; that dominance would be his delight. His body glittered at being waited on by L, whose tapered fingers slipped off Light’s shoes and cared for his feet with the assurance of a seasoned professional. It was all he could do last night to just kiss L and not pour every ounce of his longing onto floor in front of him. His slippery fox heart, his kitsune soul, wanted to demand more from L than just one night of passion.

From his window, Light stared across measured sections of green plant life and stone walkways. With the back of his hand, he brushed his shirt to test its dryness (not quite crisp yet) and caught sight of his sister in the courtyard. She walked in snips toward the recreation building, head thrown back in what Light thought might have been a laugh or groan. Her path mirrored his own usual journey to retrieve dirty towels and other discarded laundry from the pool locker room. With Light shut up in his room for almost the whole day, his mother must have pestered Sayu into performing his chores. His legs still protested their use after being ravished the night before so Light felt no remorse in skipping his daily duties in order to sulk in his room.

Sulk: That was Sayu’s term for when he absconded into his private quarters after romantic difficulties; although her use was more pointed.

“If you keep sulking every time Ryuzaki leaves,” she lectured him during a holiday dinner, “you’ll be miserable forever. Running this hotel like one of those ugly old men from a bad drama and talking about how you used to be _so_ popular. You’ll be just like Great-Uncle and die alone without a good wife.”

“Shut up.” Light said as he speared her pork cutlet out of spite. “I’ll never be ugly.”

To be absolutely fair to himself, Light wasn’t in a sulk over L leaving or even coming; in fact, _Light_ had left the other man alone in bed after sleeping a few precious hours together and then holed himself up in his garret for the day. However, this fact gave him little satisfaction; mutual avoidance didn’t relax the tight pressure in his chest when he thought of L’s fleeting presence. To reassure himself, he began to trail around his room and count what belonged to him—a tactic to ignore what didn’t.

Sheets unrumpled by a night’s sleep, the bed was crowded by a series of books and paint supplies. Two large bookcases stood guard on either side of the bathroom doorway, their shelves loaded down by both tattered paperbacks and thick, luscious hardcovers about law practices, architecture, and—another further stuffed away secret—romance. Ceramic potted ferns, their green wide leaves brilliant contrasts to the blue-grey containers, sat at varying levels around the room. One pot of gardenias remained among them at the top of a small display—his tribute to Great-Uncle. As his eyes consumed the various decorative leave-behinds that made up his space, Light tasted a rock under his tongue—the knowledge that this couldn’t be shared; not the least with L. It was, as far as his heart saw, an incomplete collection.

Such persistent emptiness made Light feral under his skin, ready to rip free of his wanting flesh and become a horrible, maddened beast that took instead of asked. At times, he wondered whether this animal inside him was what pushed his desire for L’s dominance—a person to hold his skin together as firm as he could slip on a coat or grip an ankle—and other times, he thought perhaps the animal was entirely a creation of want for L, a stomach growl centered on a single craving.

Light told himself that the periods of drought were good and a lesson not to swell his own thoughts with romance. If L didn’t want to stay, then he didn’t deserve to haunt the Den and especially not Light’s roof-top heart. But then he saw L again and all his lessons were unlearned, replaced by a cool caress and tart mouth on his own.

The dark wool coat hung on a rack not a few feet from Light’s window with a judgmental wrinkle to its fabric. He stared back at it, stepping lightly but unable to ignore the prominent ache blessing every movement with the memory of L’s cock swollen inside him, hands commanding Light to allow his restless desires some air to breathe. Finally, he looked away and went to his closet. Maybe he could find a little work to do downstairs. A part of him whispered that L was bound to be wandering the hotel as well, that perhaps they might meet. His stride quickened, although he lectured that too gleeful whisper on his haste being a sense of duty, not eagerness.

Light slipped on a clean pale-blue button-up and attached two metal collar tips embossed with the hotel’s signature foxes. He tucked the shirt in with neat military folds as his father taught him and checked his mirror once before leaving. A muted but winsome smile practiced across his mouth—a ritual to complete the spell of customer service.

“How can I help you?” Light asked his reflection. “I’m at your service.”

…

He didn’t consider it fate that they met at midnight, that the dining area was empty save for their quickened breath, but Light wasn’t upset with the universe for having L kiss him again.

Pressed to the silver wall, Light’s thoughts were cotton candy spun around a paper cone—thinner than thin and caught in the sugar-heat still present on L’s lips while they kissed. How long ago did he eat something sweet? Light moaned, greed present in the curl of cool fingers on his hip and his wrist, and shut his eyes, swallowing whatever spit slurried from L’s tongue to his. With his own selfish yip, he gripped L by the hair and tugged until the man pulled back. Pink prickled his slivered cheeks but his eyes remained sharp in their acquisitional flicker over Light’s body.

“Your room.” Light’s lips smacked with shared spittle, ruining the breathless lust he wanted to convey. “I know a short cut.”

Though his private quarters remained unknown to the other man, little pleased Light more than to show L throw-away secrets. Pushing open panels in hotel walls or removing a book that had a section cut out full of his and Sayu’s old toys—anything that was a quiet, hidden room in Light’s knowledge was a delight to throw into wide relief. His skin crawled with that pleasure now as he pulled away a velvet curtain to reveal a split mirror nicked by a handle, which he took hold of and opened on to a servant’s elevator.

Overall, the elevator held nothing valuable beyond quick transportation—drab grey metal siding and a scuffed floor accented only by a single gold handrail around the perimeter—but it had worth in exclusivity. Face a buffet of interest, L roved his attention over every corner of the elevator while following Light, who hardly kept his own sun-beam grin down. Fingers flexing without anything to grab, he dropped his shoulder to the elevator wall and punched in the third floor. He flicked anxious looks over to where L’s grin lowered, the plain surroundings sinking in.

“Not as grand as the guest ones,” Light licked his ruddy lips, ripe with the ghost of L’s mouth. “Luxury would be wasted on the staff.”

“I’d hardly call the heir to the Hotel Kitsune a lowly staff member.” L’s dry tone rippled when Light took his hand. “Although I do miss the foxes.”

“They’re here.” Inching their hands together across space, Light guided L’s fingers to his metal collar tips, rubbing them over the embossed fox heads. “You’re just not looking hard enough.”

L didn’t look at where their hands met. His eyes fixed on Light a complex equation of possession, fever, and amusement. Although they were the same height, Light tilted upward to chase the taste of L’s kiss again. The elevator pinged as his lower lip was given a wanting suck and Light despaired that he had to leave that embrace so they could stumble into the third floor hallway.

The Den had four floors not including Light’s garret, each with a season for its decorative inspiration. At twelve, Light ranked the floors by which had the best halls for running; the second floor—spring—took home gold then, but now he wasn’t sure. Hand grasped in L’s hand, careening in as elegant a stride as possible, he considered the winter hallways perfect to rush through. Behind him, L dragged his fingers across the left wall and tipped paintings into rapid swings. By the time they reached his room, every frame was a pendulum set off by his hand.

Light started kissing L long before his key card slipped through and opened the door. He didn’t need eyes open to know the landscape which, despite different colors, mirrored every other guest room—queen bed with four pillows; a bedside table, capped by a rotary phone only able to reach lines within the hotel; a dresser with accompanying mirror; a single secretary desk, filled with Hotel Kitsune stationary; and a bathroom with a glass box shower. They barreled past the dresser to trip onto the bed, sinking into the whipped-cream thick sheets just as they had last night. His mouth slick with want, Light trailed impish pecks down L’s neck, licking at the swallows jumping in his throat. He bit on that arrogant jaw and wriggled when L ran his hands down his back, fingers tucked into his pants.

“Do these come off?” L tugged at the tight waistband, his tone teasing as his thumbs rubbed circles where there was fleshy give. “You’re nearly painted into them.”

“You want them off,” Light said. “You take them off.”

Inquisitive fingers tapped around to Light’s front and as he toyed with the brass trouser button, L gave him a smile that was the servile twin to the one that he shot Light on his knees the other night. Light rocked his hips forward, his pants undone and his arousal unraveling into tangled warmth.

One hand reached in and released Light from his trousers; his packer, bent into a half hard curve, balanced in L’s palm. He squeezed it once, before letting go to tug down Light’s trousers until he could kick them off. Stepping back, Light took hold of himself and stroked the packer, following L’s hungry eyes on his agonizing rhythm. Another step led him to the bedside table, where he knew the lubricant and a few condoms were stashed in the slim drawer. His heart thumped against his chest, delirious at how, even half-naked, L followed his movements with shining crow’s eyes. Light rummaged through the drawer, every once in a while peering over his shoulder to check on L, whose sloppy undressing was best captured in snapshot glances: a strip of ropey muscles along his long arms; his dark, coarse pubic hair trailing to a dick at half-mast; and parted lips, chapped and pink as his tongue ran over them. Finally turning around, he saw the entire unbroken length of L in the nude. Part of Light wanted to drop to his knees; another part wanted to see that bare body knelt before his feet. His desires didn’t need to be spoken as L bent on one knee and came eye-level with Light’s cock.

“Do you mind if I suck it?” He dragged a finger over the silicone surface and Light gasped at the tenderness. After he gave L an affirmative nod, the other man encircled the base with his square palm, fingers guiding the tip to his open mouth. Long, confident sucks left Light’s ears dizzy with their wet noise and he ground into the movement, hastily discarding the lube and condom to unbutton his shirt.

Between flutters of its pale-blue cotton flaps, Light watched L slick his silicone cock, lips stretched around it and moans muffled by its girth. His collar-tips were heavy—those metal aggressors his father gifted him on his eighteenth birthday—and smacked on his chest once he finished unbuttoning. The shirt lay in two before he shrugged it off, letting the fabric puddle at his feet where L crotched. Another gasp, this one louder, rippled from Light as L pulled off his cock with a single strand of spit connecting it to his lower lip.

Before standing, L wrapped his hands around Light’s hips so his fingers sunk into the meat of his ass. A low groan pulled from Light, his muscles flexing beneath that grip, as L leveraged himself back to his full height. He took hold of Light’s chin, tipped it forward and pressed his rough lips to his forehead. Affection blossomed from the gesture; Light shut his eyes and leaned toward what he hadn’t known he was hungry for.

“I need you to fuck me.” L spoke on the curve of Light’s skull. “Deep and fully.”

Light draped his arms around L’s waist, his forearms balanced precariously on the man’s gaunt hips, and drew him nearer. “Yes,” he said. “You can have me as deep as you need.”

They climbed onto the bed together, hands pressed in odd places just to keep steady contact, and L on his knees considered what position he wanted. His knuckle tapped his mouth in the quizzical replica of some Sherlock Holmes deductive stance—enough so that Light stifled a laugh.

“I like it on all fours.” Light attempted a helpful suggestion. “But face to face is good too. Although from the back works better with this packer, I think.”

“I’ve had sex with transgender men before.” L snipped, not unkindly but in a fastidious, informative tone. “Giving, receiving, other things. My concern is my knees.”

A pinpointed jealousy flared in Light’s mouth at the mention of other men but his expression turned curious in spite of that. “Your knees?” he asked. “What’s the problem with them?”

“Oh,” L waved his hand. “Sometimes they get a little sore if I do all fours for too long. Then I can’t go on stairs the next day. Would face to face be burdensome?”

“No.” Crawling toward L, who already began his slow recline against the plush cradle of pillows, Light put his hand on one thigh to push it further open. “None of this is burdensome to me.”

Lost for a moment at the nervy jump of L’s legs as he ran his palms across their surprisingly hirsute expanse, Light let himself sink into touch. L hummed through his ministrations with a pleased cast over his features and when Light held out a hand, he slipped the lubricant into it. Dripping lube onto two fingers, Light sank his index in first and reveled at the welcoming heat. Each push brought a slow relaxation, and soon L’s entrance stretched to accommodate two fingers, accepting an eager third finger while Light kissed his neck.

A huff released out of Light as L hook a leg over his hip, coaxing both his body and fingers closer and deeper respectively. “You open so well,” Light said, eyelashes heavy and his mouth open on L’s throat. “I’m almost jealous.”

“Your boy cunt is wonderfully accepting.” L put a hand on the back of Light’s neck and squeezed, his voice a little raspy as he teased. “Is that what you want to hear? Does my little fox-demon need more praise?”

“Yes.” Light removed his fingers, grinning at the propulsive moan their absence caused. He coated his packer, pumping his palm and fingers over the length in shameless long strokes. “Tell me what you like about my body,” he demanded. “Tell me how you loved to fuck me.”

L lifted himself on his elbows, a wry twist in his smile, and turned away a moment. He returned to face Light with the discarded condom and peeled it open. Light angled himself into L’s open palm and let his careful fingers pull the condom over his slicked cock, mesmerized by their preciseness. While his silicone dick wasn’t quite the length of L’s, the fit suited it fine.

Dropping back on the pillow, L spread his legs to accommodate Light leaning on top of him. “Fuck me,” he said, “and I’ll tell you what a pleasure your body was to ravish.”

Light groaned, pressed his tip to L’s hole and inched it forward until the head inserted fully; a loud whine and trembling thighs not enough to distract Light as he pushed himself to the hilt. Only when his entirety was seated inside L did Light look up and admire rapturous gaze set upon him from the other man. A beginning flush painted across features narrowed by the central arousal L fixed on where their bodies connected. Light shifted, his cock jostling as he did, and the resulting moan was perfect. Almost without thought, he filed the sound away into his hoard of things—ephemeral but now his alone.

“Move,” L said, breathless. “Move slowly, Light.”

At the sound of his name, Light pulled out to the head and coaxed himself back in, starting a rhythm of easy, shallow thrusts. He put his hands on L, caressing each vulnerable part he could reach, and split his attention between the enthralling swallow of his cock into L’s body and the words from L’s lips. Sweat dripped down his face in a long veil that tickled Light’s cheeks, flustered his eyes and dampened his mouth with salt. He licked away traces of sweat, a grin growing when he saw L go redder at the motion.

“God,” L said. “Fuck. Don’t stop.”

“Give me what you promised.” Light bent himself into a bridge, his rut becoming harder but not thrashing. He wrapped one arm around L’s shoulders with the other hand pinning down his hip. “Do you love to fuck me?”

L moaned, his head tipped back, and a drop of sweat bejeweled the tip of his nose. “Yes,” he hissed. “You’re so warm, like a furnace inside that perfect cunt of yours. I want to stay in it all day, all night.”

“You could.” A quicker thrust made Light’s voice waver, his hips smacking against L’s ass in a way that would leave them both sore later. “I want you to stay.”

His heart dropped out the moment the words crossed his lips. Light stumbled in his rhythm, ignoring the disappointed whimper L let out, and took his hands back. They covered his mouth, then ran down his chest until ending up on L’s thighs again. He blinked, hollow-chested and trembling, before hefting those long thin legs over his shoulders and thrusting forward. The push went deeper than before as evidenced by the encompassing bliss rolling back L’s eyes as he cried out a strangled moan. Maybe, if he did it hard enough, Light could fuck the memory of his slip up out of L. He would try, at the least.

“Tell me more,” he said, his hips moving with punishing roughness as he dropped one hand to stroke L’s cock. “What else makes you want me?’

“Y-your eyes,” L muttered, half-slurred and half-muffled by his hand. “And your nipples. You’ve got s-such sweet peach pit nipples, Light, and they harden under my tongue. Can suck on them and hear you make hungry noises—I love it.” He keened as Light laid into another hard thrust. “I’m going to come soon. I’m going to come, okay? You’re going to make me come.”

Tears, unwelcome and unrelenting, welled in Light’s eyes. He buried his face in L’s thigh, kissing and biting the tender skin there. With each nip, he hoped a bruise stayed behind because then, at least, something of him would stay with L. The hand around L’s cock quickened its pace, Light enamored with the moist click of each pump. Motions became frenzied between them and Light couldn’t find a start and end point for the ravenousness; it was an ouroburos of bodily hunger contained in their desperate friction. First, he felt the stutter of L’s hips and then his stillness followed by a grunt as he came on his belly, still rutting on Light’s cock through his final orgasmic shudders.

Ground down by the frantic exercise, Light released L’s legs and pulled out inch by inch before collapsing onto the pillows. Feathered black hair tickled his cheek and when he peeked out one eye, it was L examining him from an inch away. He stroked a hand from Light’s shoulder to his hip with a clinical smoothness—practiced comfort from someone unpracticed with care. Light touched L by the wrist, stopped his motion and brought the hand to his lips.

“Do you want me to stay?” L asked, turning Light’s blood to ice. “I know sexual activity moves one to say many things so I wanted to know for sure.”

“Well, I don’t want you to leave,” Light teased, his voice wiry even to his own ears. It was a hasty smoke bomb: whatever would throw L off his given scent. “Why would I give up such a good bed partner?”

No amusement flickered in L’s features. “Roll on your back,” he ushered Light. “Spread your legs for me.”

Light rearranged himself until the pillows propped up his back and L settled between his thighs. As he spoke, L took off the condom and removed Light’s packer and briefs. “Have you ever struggled with a puzzle?” L asked, tugging the cotton underwear over Light’s knees and off his ankles. “There’s several I’ve had difficulty with before. Four thousand piece nightmares and all the same color. Watari taught me not to give them my entire attention though, so if I had trouble with one I could leave it and then, while I was gone, the solution would come to me.”

“I don’t like jigsaw puzzles,” Light said. “You know that.”

“Metaphorically speaking,” L said, “your preferred game of chess doesn’t work for what I’m saying.”

“And what are you saying?”

“You’re the most difficult puzzle I’ve ever encountered.” L lowered his mouth to the apex of Light’s hair trailing toward his crotch, kissing the sparse brown curls. When he spoke, his breath vibrated them in a divine quiver that tightened Light’s stomach. “Whenever I think I have all your pieces, another one comes into view and I’m at a loss again,” he said. “So I do what one does with a hard puzzle and leave it behind until I can come back with a better solution.”

“D-do you have one now?” Light cursed his stuttered question but his eyes stayed focused on L, who shrugged.

“I doubt I’ll ever have one,” he said. “That’s why I have to leave. If I stay, I’ll get lost in solving you and that,” he paused, his sharp eyes going hazy and sad, “that loss isn’t an option.”

Light grabbed L by the hair and yanked him upright, capturing his mouth in harsh kiss. He tasted his own sweat, a hint of it on L’s tongue, before pulling back. “I want you to stay,” he said. “Stay and solve me here.” Ducking his head into the juncture between shoulder and neck, he nuzzled L’s throat and dragged his nose over the clean, soap scented skin. “Are you not at my service? Did you not promise me that?”

L swallowed, his hands nervous and uncertain in their brushes against Light until settling on his back. “Is this how it works?” he breathed. “Serving a fox-demon; giving him what he wants?”

“You give me what I deserve,” Light responded. “And I give you my secrets.” He went silent a moment and then continued. “My submission for your service,” he whispered. “Is that what you consider having lost? Because I’m not something people are upset to gain.”

Without an answer, L slid down Light’s body and wrapped his arms around the circumference of his thighs. His grip lifted Light’s hips and brought his bare cunt into a warm open kiss. Wordless, it was a reply in a carnal language between the two animals housed in L and Light’s bodies—that, for now, L would remain.

Light rested his hand on the crown of L’s dark hair and twined his fingers through it. Every bobbed motion as he licked across Light’s cunt brought with it a low, rumbled sound. Those sounds ranged between fervent gulps and softer gasps, both of which vibrated though Light as he imagined thunder rattled the clouds. He pushed L further down, rocked his hips into the consuming kisses layered upon his center, his thighs, and for a brief moment, his asshole. The sensation stunned him in how delicate the flick of L’s tongue was, how his muscles fluttered in response and wanted more.

Wildfire across his skin rekindled the surrender of slipping one arm after another into a held open coat and Light bent himself open as wide as he could. L lavished his tongue over the clench of his asshole, particular in how it teased Light but never quite breached him. His mouth traveled from there in a journey slow kisses between Light’s thigh and crotch—where fragile skin carried thousands of nerve endings, all sparking gleefully at a bite or tongue swipe—until it returned to coax Light’s cock in messy licks. Even with one firm hand on his hip, Light bucked into the lust-blown fever between his legs with eyes shut, head tilted back and thoughts spun around a mounting orgasm in his core. He was close, fingers in L’s hair alternating between a possessive grip and apologetic petting, and as his climax broke, so too did his quiet moans. Melted together into a loud wail, he rode out his orgasm against L’s face, thin and mischievous lips still kissing his convulsing cunt until Light pushed him away, too sensitive for anything more.

L crawled up the bed, his side skating against Light’s, and dropped his head onto the pillow next to him. Exhaustive flush burned his cheeks—near Light’s twin for how sweaty and rumpled he was—while his hair flew in every direction. Some flattened under his cheek and a few strands fluttered under the weak ceiling fan. Light blinked quickly and saw the hair become true feathers, ruffled before a crow took flight. He brushed the back of his hand against them to stop the take-off, startled but pleased when L leaned into the caress.

“Tired, then?” Light dragged a finger from L’s forehead to his neck as he swallowed, a faint ripple under the touch. “Nothing to say?”

L, whose closed eyes and parted mouth twitched when Light stopped his petting with his palm flat on L’s chest. “I have something I could say,” he said, “but it would be uncouth. You wouldn’t like it.”

Light pressed his thumb to the divot in L’s collarbone. “More uncouth than calling my nipples sweet peach pits?” His question was met with a faint ashamed grin and hand covering his, L pulling their contact apart before putting Light’s fingers in his mouth. Each one received a soft kiss and were folded into a fist, taken back to Light’s chest after L released his wrist.

“A good meal always makes me tired.” L peeked an eye open. “That’s what I was going to say.”

He smiled into the kiss Light gave him; his lips twitched into the press in a way that made Light want to press harder and feel every emotion. On the next kiss, L swiped his tongue along the seam of Light’s lips and was granted entry by a gentle moan. They made out in languid, indulgent licks, and sunk so deep into the bed that Light hardly noticed when he fell asleep, having already succumb to the dreamlike state of L’s kiss.

…

The displeasure of waking up to an empty bed was familiar to Light but was lessened by the noise of the nearby shower. L hummed loud enough that his voice carried through the shut door, a deep melodious tune Light let pull him from bed. He recollected his clothes, dressed and tucked himself as neatly as was manageable.

Checking himself in the mirror, a dark bruise stained the base of his throat but his instinct to cover it went unheeded. Another, rumbling impulse gave him leave to show the mark. He strode from L’s room toward the dining area for breakfast and willed the entire building to notice him as a full, sexual being. Until, of course, he ran into an older guest and covered his bruise with a soothing hand on feigned sore throat. Sayu caught him on the service elevator, herself in a mussed state, and the two carried on a stilted conversation aimed just shy of accusing the other of misconduct.

“How was your sleep?” Her question swirled along with her gaze around the bruise. “Did you fall off the bed or something?”

Light sniffed and shot a pointed look at Sayu’s reddened mouth. “Did you fall on a vacuum cleaner?” He winced after asking and sighed. “My sleep was fine. Just very eventful.”

Her expression softened and Sayu gestured to Light’s collar. “Better take that one off if you don’t have the matched set,” she said. “Dad’ll get suspicious if he sees one is missing.”

Glancing down, Light found he only had one collar tip clasped on and gingerly removed it. He shoved it in his pocket, thanked Sayu and listened to her story about the pool towels (“They were all _so wet_ even though no one was in the pool for a full hour!”) out of gratefulness. Their ride ended with a mutual nod-struck promise not to snitch, and they spilled together into the dining area. A few guests took up fringe tables, eating a series of small plates with fish and rolled egg omelets, and bowls of miso soup. Light swept through the tables, gifting each person with a slight smile while his nervous fingers fiddled with the pocketed collar tip.

In the kitchen, his mother walked through rows of efficient, if homely staff plating breakfast. Her sharp eyes scanned over their work and over to Light. Surprise brightened her eyes, which had the same warm brown as his own but worn into a less constructed warmth. Sachiko wiped her hands off on her otherwise clean apron, linen and leather that covered her mauve shift dress and was corded around her slim waist in a double-knot. She addressed Light with pointed attention to his wrinkled shirt.

“You’re here late,” she said. “Usually, it’s me interrupting your breakfast supervision. Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Light waved his hand in a replica of L’s gesture the other night. “I just slept funny and stayed in. Can I grab some eggs before I start work today? I’m really hungry.”

She regarded him, maternal suspicious present in her eyes, but her expression relaxed into a wider version of his own smile. “Take fish too,” she said. “A wedding party rented out the main hall and I need you alert for them.”

Slipping two plates into his hands, Light peddled assurances to his mother while going out the panel door into the tables. A cough turned his attention from balancing his plates to a guest two tables away, crotched on his chair and smoothing his wet hair with a lazy hand.

“Water pressure went funny on me.” L started mid-complaint, gesturing for Light to sit and giving his fish a disappointed look. “Good until the last three minutes of the shower. Why didn’t you stay until I got out? Why didn’t you get me something to eat?”

Light hummed, both to cover L’s question and because it was his natural inclination on questions he didn’t like. “I was restless,” he said. “And there’s no sweets on the prix-fixe today. Don’t talk about us too loud in the dining place. I’d rather not have a discussion about our activities with guests around.”

“Don’t I count as a guest?”

“Do you _want_ to just be a guest?” Wide eyed, Light shot L an incredulous look which was returned with a flat expression he chose to interpret as sheepish. “I’m going to be busy today. There’s some wedding in the main hall.”

“How exciting,” L said. “Matrimony.”

“Afterward,” Light started but paused and didn’t finish his thought. He reached for his chopsticks, not ready to say he’d be free afterward during the evening, if L wanted to meet again, and hear L say he didn’t care to see Light ever again. Maybe not logical, but a proven occurrence. “Well, anyway. That will be my day.”

L dropped his hand over Light’s and stopped him. His hold was cold, a little damp and strong; Light’s skin prickled underneath it.

“You’ll need this, won’t you?” From his jeans, L took out the other collar tip. “Allow me,” he said and brought the tip to Light’s fabric collar. Close enough that every movement brushed his neck, Light watched L clasp the tip into place and then, when L held out his hand, he quickly gave him the other tip. Once he finished, L didn’t release Light and instead smoothed his hands onto his chest.

“Better button that up.” He looked at the bruise peeking out, shining under the gold dining room light. “I don’t want anyone to see it.”

“You don’t?” Light lifted his collar and fixed the top button around his neck.

“Consider it a secret you gave me. I don’t want to share.” L let his hands fall to the table and twitched as Light laid his hand over one of them. He rubbed his pinkie over the ridges of L’s knuckles, mouth dry and hunger turned toward less food-related thoughts.

“This evening,” Light said, “I want you to see me again. Meet me at the stairs.”

“I’m at your service,” L said. “Whenever you want.”

Faint pleasure buzzed through Light’s chest as he pictured L standing beside his ferns, his books and his bed. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i hope you liked that! please leave a comment and ask any questions you have about the hotel AU - the history of the place, what plants Light has, his packer brand :3c - as well as let me know what you liked! thanks!
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> [my blog](https://translightyagami.tumblr.com/)


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